


Choose Your Own Alpha

by SushiOwl



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Chris Argent, Alpha Derek Hale, Alpha Deucalion (Teen Wolf), Alpha Jackson Whittemore, Alpha Peter Hale, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Choose Your Own Adventure, Courtship, M/M, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Omega Verse, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Porn in Later Chapters, Readers Vote On Outcome, uncle/nephew rivalry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2020-11-26 18:07:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20934491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SushiOwl/pseuds/SushiOwl
Summary: Stiles goes to a courtship ball, figuring he'll probably end up with no one at all. But, life is never that simple, because he catches the attention of not one, but five alphas.---This is a Choose Your Own Adventure Type fic where readers vote on what happens via my polls!





	1. This isn't my party, and I'll hide if I want to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, sure, this is fine. I have decided that I want a complicated life.
> 
> Come with me, and you'll be, in a world of pure aggravation!

If Stiles lingered by the buffet table and just ate chicken peri-peri all night, could he get out of this without talking to anyone? He hoped so, but he doubted it, because he could feel eyes on him like fingers walking up his back.

He knew he looked beautiful. His dad had really gone all out for his courtship ball attire. It was a shame, because if he’d been dressed in his dad’s old courtship suit with its stuffy, too-big jacket and ruffled cumberbund, no alpha would look at him twice. But no, here he was, dressed to the nines in a sleek, dark blue jacket, black waistcoat with metallic blue buttons, black slacks, soft gray button down shirt, and gray dress shoes. Oh, and his jacket had tails.  _ Tails! _

Partner that with his carefully styled hair and plumping lip gloss Lydia had attacked him with, of course he looked good enough to eat. He was thinking about covering his face in sauce to ward off those that may try to invade his personal space.

However, he’d told his father he would at least try to be open to talking to people. So here he was, trying to look at least a little approachable. He wasn’t about to hold up a sign that he was DTF though. He was classier than that.

Sometimes. 

But yeah, he wasn’t going to start walking up to alphas and shaking his ass. They were supposed to be doing all the chasing, after all.

Sure, maybe courtship balls had replaced mating runs a couple centuries ago -- when “civility outlived savagery” as his sex ed teacher had said with a roll of her eyes -- but being an omega still meant not working very hard. It was nonsense, but it gave Stiles an excuse to be more interested in the food than the alphas prowling the ballroom.

Still… He had looked.

He saw many familiar faces -- small town -- and some faces he didn’t know at all. 

As flashy as his car parked in two spaces outside, Jackson was strutting about in an iridescent red suit and gold shoes. Subtle as a hand grenade, that one. He was bound to end up with a few omegas salivating all over him. 

Stiles wasn’t interested in Jackson, at least not in his personality. He wasn’t blind. Jackson was hot. He’d had a few very private sessions with his knotting dildo thinking about Jackson driving into him from behind. But he knew that even if they did have sex, it would be angry, and there would be punching. Jackson was  _ infuriating. _

Jackson looked at him, so smug and bright as an overzealous fluorescent light, and fucking winked at him. Stiles frowned back and decided that he didn’t need to fuck the guy to punch him. He put his nose in the air and turned away. Nope. No way. Fuck that.

Still, he did look striking tonight in red eyeliner. 

Standing off to the side of the dance floor was Chris Argent. He had cleaned up some before coming to the ball. He was normally very scruffy, very mountain man. It worked before him, usually, but he’d reined it all it to work with his suit, which was black with a red dress shirt and silver tie. 

He was leaning against a pillar, watching the dancers and toying with his ring finger. He wasn’t wearing his wedding ring these days, but he had a habit of running his thumb over where it had been. Stiles couldn’t blame him. Victoria had been a force of nature. Of course he missed her. She had died seven years ago, and this was the first courtship ball Chris had attended since.

Stiles had always had a thing of Chris. Why wouldn’t he, honestly? He was a silver fox. He worked with the police department, so he was always around the station. He and Chris went on food runs for the officers. They talked all the time. On more than one occasion, Chris had draped that heavy hunting jacket over Stiles’s shoulders when he was cold.

“You’re going to make an alpha very happy one day, kid,” Chris had told him more than once.

As he gazed at him, Chris’s eyes finally shifted toward the buffet table and landed on him. His eyebrows lifted, and he stopped rubbing at his ring finger. Stiles smiled, picking up a glass of sparkling cider and toasting him. Chris may have watched him blossom into adulthood, but he’d never seen him like this.

Chris smiled at him, before he pointed to the side of his mouth. Stiles blinked, uncomprehending, so Chris tapped the side of his mouth more pointedly. Stiles lifted a hand and rubbed his face, his fingers coming back with a bit of sauce on them.

Well fucking fuck, that was fucking perfect. He turned and grabbed a napkin, rubbing furiously at his mouth for a minute before turning around to look at Chris again… But Chris was talking to another omega. A woman. Yeah, she was probably more his speed anyway.

Stiles wiped at his face again, moving away from the buffet table to avoid so a goof again. He made to go sit at the tables off to the side of the dance floor and nearly collided with a thick-bodied alpha. “Ah, sorry--” he tried, eyes dropping immediately, automatically.

“It’s fine,” came a gruff reply as the alpha passed by him.

Once he wasn’t so close, Stiles looked up after him. Oh, it was Derek.

He looked handsome tonight. He always looked handsome, really, but the outfit he had on for the ball was nothing short of delicious. Deep red button down shirt, black slacks and shoes, and  _ suspenders. _ Christ. Who gave him the right?

Derek Hale was nearly thirty by now, and he had never been to a courtship ball. It was the subject of much gossip around town, especially since Derek was a very eligible werewolf with a lot of family money and no one to spoil with it. There was a lot of speculation as to why he had never gone to a ball. Stiles had heard it all, but he’d never joined in with his own wild theories. He had the burden of the truth. 

He remembered teenage Derek sitting in the station, shock and ash across his face, whispering about how it was all his fault. He’d trusted an omega once, and she had turned out to be a predator. How in the world someone had convinced him to come to a ball tonight, Stiles would likely never find out.

They used to talk. Stiles, Derek and Scott had been inseparable once. They had spent a lot of time at the hospital together for a couple years. Scott had been there because his mom was a nurse. Stiles had been there because it was harder to get in trouble when contained in a hospital. Derek had been there because he would sit by his uncle’s bed and do his homework.

Somehow, they had all just stopped hanging out together. Derek had been older than he and Scott anyway. He’d gone off to college after his uncle woke up. When he came back, things weren’t the same anymore.

Speaking of Derek’s uncle, where was that sexy sleazeball? Stiles dropped into a chair near the wall and glanced around for the man, finding him chatting up a group of starry-eyed omegas that looked barely older than legal over by the chocolate fountain. 

God, that man. He looked absolutely devilishly handsome tonight in an all black suit broken up only by a blood red tie. His hair was slicked back, and his facial hair was perfectly styled, not a hair out of place. Silver glinted on his finger as he gestured with his hand to punctuate whatever tale he was spinning; a ring with the Hale crest on it. He liked playing the small town mobster, and it showed.

His butt looked fantastic in that suit. 

The man seemed to sense Stiles was watching him, but the moment he turned his head, Stiles looked away and pretended to be looking at his nails. He would not give Peter Fucking Hale the satisfaction of knowing he’d held his attention for more than a glance. Nope. Not gonna happen.

Peter had no fucking shame. He’d been coming to these balls ever since he was eighteen, only taking a hiatus because he’d been in a coma for a while. He always went home with someone, but he never claimed a mate. These things were more like a dating service for him. Cad.

It would have been easier to dislike him if he weren’t such a goddamn delight to be around otherwise. He was painfully witty, whip smart, and just really funny. Part of his charm was that he could cow your anger toward him by flirting or joking with you. It was aggravating as hell.

The sad part was that Stiles probably would have gone to his bed had he ever asked.

Anger made him crave chocolate, but Peter was by the chocolate fountain, so he was not about to go over there. Instead he just glanced around, thinking about cookies, cakes, and chocolate dipped strawberries while surveying the other alphas. Most of them were talking with omegas by now. Lots of them were dancing.

There was one alpha standing off by himself though. Stiles didn’t recognize him, so he must have been from out of town, just in for the ball. He was lean, just this side of gaunt-but-pretty, wearing a soft-looking red sweater with the collar brushing up against his strong jawline. He was also wearing jeans. They were black, pressed, and very nice, but they were still jeans. Also, he has shades on. Who the fuck wore shades-- Stiles then noticed the collapsed white guidestick in the alpha’s hand.

Well, he was a big ol’ asshole, now wasn’t he? This alpha was blind, and Stiles was over criticizing his choice in dress like a catty brat.

Stiles made a little noise in his throat like he wanted to die. The alpha turned his head right towards him like he heard it. He froze, holding his breath. No way. He couldn’t have. Not even werewolves-- 

Two pinpoints of burning red glowed behind the alpha’s shades. Shit, what the fuck? Was he--was this guy looking at him?

“You are so bad at parties.”

Stiles’s soul nearly left its mortal shell as Lydia dropped down next to him at the table. He stared at her in shock, hand over his chest as he wondered how many years he’d just lost from that spook. “Say what?” he squeaked.

“You,” she repeated, slower now because she was patronizing like that. “You’re bad at parties.”

“I’m not about to disagree, but why am I bad at parties?” Stiles asked, tearing his gaze away to look back over at the alpha. Oh, he was gone. Of course he was gone. How else could Stiles’s night possibly go?

“You’re sitting here in probably the only area of the hall with dim lighting, people watching instead of talking to the alphas.”

“I’m a wallflower,” Stiles tried, trying to look for the alpha.

“You’re wall moss.”

“Wow, rude.” Where the fuck was he?

“You’re not a totally lost cause though,” Lydia told him, and he finally turned to lift his brow at her. She smiled. “Don’t look now, but someone’s coming your way.”

He looked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What happens next? You decide!
> 
> Votes are in! Chris wins with 9!


	2. You would hide too if this happened to you!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris and Stiles talk for a while. Maybe their intentions align a little more than Stiles knew... Too bad they get interrupted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm glad you guys like Chris, lol.

It was Chris. He had made his way around the whole ballroom and was coming right for him, a slightly harried look on his handsome face. Stiles already wanted to hug him.

“Don’t be a weirdo,” Lydia warned and she got up and floated away to leave him to his own awkward devices.

“No promises,” he muttered, before he smiled at Chris. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Chris greeted in return, huffing out a laugh. “Can I hide over here with you for a while? I wasn't expecting to get so much attention tonight.”

Stifles wanted to tell him that he very well should have, given how delectable he looked right now. Instead, he chuckled and pulled a chair out with his foot. “Come be one with the wall moss.”

“Whatever that means.” Chris sat and smoothed his big hands out across his thighs.

Licking his lips a couple times, Stiles tried to think of what to say beyond ‘Take me; I’m yours!’ He tugged at the cuff of his shirt as Chris started to rub at his ring finger again. “I’m glad you’re here,” he finally managed.

“Yeah?” Chris straightened up a bit, hands falling between his spread thighs.

Those thighs were going to be on Stiles’s mind more than usual now. He cleared his throat and forced himself to look at Chris’s face. “Yeah, I mean, this--you don’t usually come to the courtship balls.” He looked out at the dancing figures then back at Chris. “It’s good, y’know… since… I mean, I’m glad you’re out. You’re an eligible bachelor, and you deserve a nice omega and all that. Moving on is important, I hear, and you--well--it’s just good. Yeah.” He waved a hand as the people manning the controls in his mind ran around screaming  _ Mayday, mayday! _

Chris didn’t say anything for a long moment, just stared at him, before he looked down and dragged his tongue across his lips. “You look handsome tonight, Stiles.”

Warmth bloomed through Stiles’s chest, up his neck, across his cheeks, and to the tips of his ears. He popped the knuckles of his index fingers nervously, before he laced his hands together. “Thank you,” he managed, hoping his blush wasn’t too blotchy under the light layer of concealer that Lydia had put on him. “You look handsome too.”

Chris looked back out at the dancers, and for a moment Stiles thought he was about to ask for a shimmy across the floor. He would have said yes in a heartbeat. But, instead, Chris said, “Did you like the food selection?” A smile curved the side of his mouth ever-so-slightly.

The tips of Stiles’s ears went hotter with indignation. “Yes, well, you know I like to eat,” he said, lifting his hand to rub at the side of his mouth for any particle of sauce that may be left.

“I know. It's a good thing.” There was a fond smile spreading Chris’s lips now, less teasing. “I worry that sometimes you don't take care of yourself.”

“I do,” Stiles tried to insist, back to being embarrassed.

“I know you try. But sometimes you're too focused on taking care of other people to look after yourself.”

He was pretty sure he knew what Chris was getting at. “Well, my dad needs help. With my mom gone and his health being not so great…” He screwed his fingers together, twisting them so the bony joints rubbed against each other almost painfully.

“I didn't say it was a bad thing,” Chris told him, right before his hand appeared in Stiles’s realm of vision and laid over his hands. “I like that you take care of your dad. You’re doing a good job of keeping that stubborn old man alive.” 

Stifles snorted and looked up into Chris’s slate gray eyes. “Hey, I’m the only one that gets to insult him like that.”

Almost grinning now, Chris ran his calloused thumb across the bumpy ridge of Stiles’s knuckles. It was only once, a quick movement that probably meant nothing, but it was the center of Stiles’s universe while it happened. 

“What I am trying to say is that maybe you need to find someone to take care of you while you’re taking care of everyone else.” 

Stifles was sure that he’d eaten the plumping lip gloss for all the lip licking he had done during this conversation. He stared down at Chris’s hand where I covered his and decided he wanted to be bold. If there was ever a time to give it a shot, I was now, even if he ended up with his foot in his mouth.

“What if I want to take care of that person too?” he asked, eyes lifting to Chris’s handsome face. “Would that be okay?”

Swallowing and looking a little uncertain for the first time in this conversation, Chris turned and slotted his knees with Stiles’s so they were truly face to face. “I think that if you find someone willing to take care of you, he--they wouldn’t mind if you ended up taking care of each other.”

There was no way that Stiles wasn't going to notice that slip. He took in a deep breath and let it out. “Well, I don't think I would mind that one bit either.” He gave one of his best smiles.

Chris smiled back, his hand squeezing over the top of Stiles’s. He took a deep breath, like he was gearing up to say something.

“There you are, Mr. Stilinski,” came an entirely different voice, smooth like melted chocolate. 

“Peter,” Stiles replied, steeling himself before turning his head to look. “What do you mean ‘there you are?’ I wasn’t hiding.”

There was a glint of something dangerous in Peter’s eye, though it wasn't the kind of danger that Stiles ran away from. It was the kind that taunted his curiosity. What happened if little red followed the big bad wolf into the woods?

“Maybe not hiding, but certainly not showing yourself off,” Peter said, putting a hand on the table and leaning into Stiles’s personal space. Not close enough to be suffocating, but enough that Stiles could almost feel his heat. “It’s a shame, given how you look tonight.”

Stiles turned, looking up at Peter fully now. “And how is that? Like knot bait?”

Chris’s hand twitched on his, then tightened.

“When have you ever known me to be so crude?” Peter asked, hand going to his chest like he was scandalized by such language. “I believe the word I was going to use was  _ radiant. _ ”

Dammit, don't smile. Don't give him the satisfaction. Stop it, face, don't you do it!--Fuck. He was smiling. There was just something about Peter that could make you feel like the only one in the room.

“There you are,” Peter said again, lips curving smugly. He flicked his eyes over Stiles’s head. “Christopher.”

“Peter,” Chris greeted, putting as little inflection in his name as he possibly could.

“I do hope I am not interrupting,” Peter said, tipping his head and smiling down at Stiles in a way that spoke volumes about how little he actually cared. “But I was hoping to ask Stiles for a dance if that is alright?”

“It isn't up to me who he dances with, now is it?” Chris replied, almost flippant. Stiles knew that tone meant he was planning to use Peter asking for permission to dance as ammunition when it most benefited him. Chris was sly, and Stiles loved it.

“No, it is not.” Peter stood up straight. “Shall we?”

Stiles regarded Peter’s outstretched hand and was about to take it when Derek appeared like a bushy-browed bat out of hell. 

“Peter!” he hissed. Now that he was closer, he looked agonizingly handsome in those suspenders. Had Peter dressed him? It seemed like a choice he would have made. Oh, the buttons on his shirt were silver.

“Hello, nephew,” Peter replied, brows lifting. “Can I help you?”

“You said you wouldn't,” Derek bit out between bared teeth, gesturing very quickly and subtly in Stiles’s direction.

“I believe you simply ordered me not to, but I never agreed.” He tipped his head as Derek let out a low growl. “Now, I was offering to dance with Stiles, so unless there is anything else you would like to bark at me?” He turned his eyes back to Stiles, lifting his hand again.

Derek glared at his uncle, and for a moment he looked like he might start yelling. But then his features smoothed out, and he let the tension fall out of his shoulders. “Maybe _I_ was going to ask him to dance?”

“What?” Peter deadpanned.

Derek just turned his hazel eyes on Stiles and lifted his hand too. “If you would want to, that is?”

Stiles’s brows went up, and he turned to look at Chris, who was doing a very poor job of hiding his smile. He nodded to the werewolves and withdrew his hand, apparently just as interested in knowing who Stiles would choose.

Looking at them both, Stiles blew out a breath. What was his life? Why was Peter so determined to dance with him? Why was Derek so agitated? Had they talked about him before the ball? What had they said? If he danced with one of them, he could probably get answers… But which one?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To vote on this chapter, please follow [this link](https://linkto.run/p/Q8BMFT76%22) to a poll I created. It's a lot easier than voting on a Tumblr post!
> 
> You CANNOT VOTE in the comments, guys!
> 
> I'm glad you guys are enjoying this so far, and I hope you're ready for a long ride, 'cause I plan for this to go on for a while, lol.


	3. A dance and a dream... get me out of here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No editing. We post fics like idiots and feel regret never!

There were pros and cons to both of his choices, but if Stiles wanted answers, he figured he should dance with someone that would actually tell him the truth. He put his hand in Derek’s outstretched one and stood, smoothing down the front of his slacks. “I would love to dance you, Derek.”

There was a smugness to Derek’s face that was unfamiliar, but so was the agitation on Peter’s face. Usually it was the other way around.

“Well,” Peter said, dropping his hand. “I will find someone else to twirl about the dance floor then.” He turned to go and do just there.

“Petulant is not a good look on you, Peter,” Stiles called lightly in his wake, grinning. He looked to Derek, who was smiling too. “Shall we?” He didn’t wait for an answer, instead dragging the wolf onto the floor and spinning them into position.

For the most part, Derek was trying to appear like he hadn’t been taken for a little ride just then. Stiles took his hand and pulled it around to the small of his back, because if they were going to dance, then they were going to do it properly. It was obvious by the growing distress on Derek’s face that plan  _ Keep Peter Away From Stiles _ hadn’t been thought out beyond just that.

“Do you want me to lead or something?” Stiles asked with a laugh, trying to spurn him into action by sniping his alpha ego. It worked, sort of, because Derek did start moving, though very autonomously and like he was counting the steps in his head. It was cute, if a little annoying, because it made Stiles very self conscious of his own feet, so much so that he looked down to make sure he wasn’t going to fall over Derek’s two left feet.

“Jeez, you’d think you were nervous or something,” Stiles chided, and Derek’s steps faltered. “Hey--” He looked up and found pink striping from one of Derek’s sharp cheekbones to the other, right over his strong nose. Oh, well, for the second time tonight, Stiles felt like a jerk.

“Are you nervous, Sourwolf?” he asked, voice much softer in many ways.

Derek averted his eyes, and Stiles followed his gaze. Peter was doing some kind of Dancing With The Stars routine with a tittering omega in the moonlight streaming from the open balcony doors. It was all very gross. Stiles was almost envious, but if he were asked of whom he wouldn’t have had an answer.

“I don’t really dance,” Derek told him, dropping his gaze and swallowing. 

“Yeah, I can tell. We’re just kind of... swaying. It’s very homecoming dance.” He was trying really hard not to make fun of Derek, and he was almost sure that he was succeeding.

“If you would rather dance with someone else…” 

“God, you’re so self-sacrificing, stop it,” Stiles told him with a soft laugh, pulling Derek closer when he started to pull away. “If I do that, you’ll just go mope in a corner. So, you’re going to dance with me, mister. Just follow my lead for now.”

He wasn’t a great dancer by any means, being more acquainted with the Sprinkler and other such moves than the condensed not-really-a-waltz that they managed to find the steps for eventually. He remembered his mom teaching him these steps when he was a kid, dancing in the kitchen with bare feet.

“And, 1, 2, 3, and 1, 2, 3,” he said, sounding very much like how he remembered her. “There, you’ve got it.” 

“More or less,” Derek agreed, actually leading now that he knew where to put his feet.

“Better than not at all.” 

Derek was actually smiling now, which took years off of his face. “You know, it’s been a long time since you called me that.”

“Called you what?” he asked, not sure if he’d insulted the guy by something that came tumbling out of his mouth before his brain even processed it.

“Sourwolf,” Derek replied, still watching their feet. “Last time you called me that, you were just a kid.”

It had actually been Stiles’s favorite nickname for the guy. He had always been sour after the fire, always acting tough because he was the second oldest Hale kid still alive. He had to be brave for Cora, or so he had said. Stiles, being ten, had told him that I didn't lighten up then his eyebrows would get stuck in the position of dueling caterpillars.

Derek had tickled him silly for that, but he had smiled.

“I’m not a kid anymore,” Stiles told him, floating on warm memories while simultaneously wondering if he could get Derek to dip him. He thought that might be cool.

“No, definitely not.”

The gravity of those words in such a low voice didn’t hit Stiles right away. He was lagging a bit tonight, too caught up in the movement of their feet. But then he looked up, and Derek’s hazel eyes were boring into him, stealing his breath and heating up his face.

“You know, you never told me what you went to college for,” Stiles tried, tripping over his words and cursing himself for it. 

Why was he so flustered all of the sudden? This was  _ Derek _ . They’d known each other since Stiles was ten. He’d seen Derek cry until snot poured out of his nose. He’d witnessed him laugh until he got the hiccups. He’d even seen a drool puddle under his mouth when he’d fallen asleep at Peter’s hospital bedside, holding onto his uncle’s unresponsive hand.

“Architecture,” Derek told him, apparently unaware of the conflicting emotions treating Stiles’s skull like a bouncy castle. 

“That’s neat,” Stiles said softly while his brain screamed.

“I could show you my drafts sometime,” Derek went on. He must have been feeling emboldened by the conversation, because he twirled Stiles about then dipped him must like Stiles had fantasizing about a minute ago. “If you want.”

“Did you tell Peter to stay away from me?” Stiles blurted, because his brain had gone into full reboot and the first restored tab of his mind’s browser was the reason for this dance in the first place.

This was why he was single at twenty-three.

Derek didn’t drop him, though he did freeze mid-dip. “Y… yes.”

“Why?” This was a weird position for this conversation. His leg was bound to cramp in a minute.

Eyes flicking over Stiles’s face, Derek swallowed then straightened up, pulling him up with him, but once he was on his feet, Derek let go. All of his tension was back, even the shuttered expression. “He was boasting that he was going to take home the prettiest omega tonight."

That made him blink. "What does that have to do with me?"

Derek's blush was back in full force. "I--I don't think he respects the omegas he takes home."

Stiles tipped his head. "Yeah, not following."

"Stiles," Derek huffed, exasperated and probably about to pass out from the blood in his face. "He wouldn't think twice about you in the morning."

Another very slow blink as Stiles's mind loading bar chugged along to 100%. Then his eyes popped wide. "Derek, you think I'm pretty?"

He didn't mean to ask it in a small scream, but he had no control over anything, especially himself.

Hands over his face now, Derek groaned to himself. "Yes, Stiles. I think you're pretty."

Stiles waited for him to add on "Pretty stupid!" like they were in third grade or something. When Derek didn't, just stood there like the most embarrassed man to be embarrassed, Stiles's own blush came back full force.

"Oh, okay," he said, because he was deep like that.

Well this was awkward. They were standing in the middle of the dance floor, other pairs twirling around them, and they were just staring at each other. 

“Do you want to keep dancing?” Derek asked in such an unsure way that it hurt Stiles’s heart.

“Yeah,” Stiles said, because saying anything else would have made him the asshole for the third time that night.

Maybe he should just accept his fate as a bad person.

The music went slow as they moved closer, and Stiles was glad for the chance to hide his face over Derek’s shoulder. He didn't know what to say now to make Derek smile again.

He looked around the ballroom for inspiration. He found Peter sitting at a table with several omegas. Some of those chairs had definitely been borrowed from other tables. Maybe Peter would end up with a gaggle of omegas tonight.

Was that was a group of omegas was called? Gaggle? Troop? Herd? Gang? Mob? Civil lawsuit? God, he hoped Peter was the type to use a condom.

He looked around for Chris, already plotting to make desperate eyes at him. He knew Chris would ask to cut in, and derek was too polite to say no. Then Stiles could dance with Chris before going to hide in the bathroom for the remainder of the night. Yes. A+ plan.

But his eyes didn’t land on Chris. Instead they happened on Jackson right as the idiot bumped into the blind alpha stranger, while walking backwards so he could talk to the two omegas trailing behind him. Jackson’s beer sloshed all over himself and the stranger, and instead of apologizing like literally anyone else in the world, he went red in the face and started spitting insults if the quick movement of his perfect mouth was any indication.

Stiles couldn’t hear over the music.

The blind man simply regarded him coolly, straightening up from where he’d been casually leaning against a pillar. He could have let out the length of his stick, made Jackson feel foolish right then, but instead he just stood there, facing him. 

Stiles could see the profile of his face and was again struck by how handsome he was. Strong jaw, straight nose, thick neck. He could almost see his eyes too. 

“Stiles?” Derek asked when Stiles shifted them so he could look over Derek’s other shoulder.

“Uh oh,” Stiles said, because he was pretty sure he could see a sheen of red in the stranger’s gaze. 

He was pulling away from Derek before he even knew what his feet were doing. He had to go stop whatever was about to happen. He muttered “excuse me”s and “pardon me”s as he twisted through the people that were still dancing. 

Jackson had a temper. He could be violent, and he had the resources to get away with it. He had no idea what this stranger was capable of.

When alphas clashed, it was never pretty.

He wasn’t sure what he was going to do when he reached them, whose attention he was going to grab and whom he wanted to pull away… But he’d figured it out when he got there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Vote on what happens next!](https://linkto.run/p/B46FJ09A) The poll will be up for a couple days this time to give everyone a chance.
> 
> You CANNOT VOTE in the comments, guys!
> 
> Let me know how you are liking the process of this story. What events would you like to see happen in this story? It will go on further than just this night. I'm pretty sure everyone will want a chance to court Stiles properly. ;>


	4. I came. I saw. I made it awkward.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles talks to Deucalion. Why does he keep doing this to himself?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could edit, or I could just... not. :D

When he was focusing too hard on something, Stiles had no spacial awareness. It was like the opposite of his bad ADHD moments when he was hyper aware of absolutely everything while being able to do nothing. Right now, as he bee-lined for the blind alpha and Jackson, intent on stopping any bloodshed, he probably wouldn’t have noticed a twenty-car pile up right next to him.

He was so close to the two alphas. They were  _ right there _ and he needed to stop them from mauling each other. He just needed to reach out and take someone’s arm, ask for a dance, do something! That was probably why he slipped on the silky-but-somehow-crunchy fabric of someone skirt and went careening right toward them.

It would have been a very Valentine’s Hallmark TV movie moment; the clumsy, loud omega falling directly into an alpha’s arms at a courtship ball. It wouldn’t have been in slow-motion, probably. That’s not what happened.

“Fu--!” Stiles cried as he slipped and fell right into the blind stranger, who caught him in a sense that his body was there and Stiles more or less landed on it. “Ow!” So that was what it felt like to get stabbed in the side accidentally with a folded walking cane.

Wow, this guy was very handsome up so close, even looking down while Stiles was folded into his front. It should have been a bad angle, like opening your front-facing camera accidentally and seeing all of your chins. But it wasn’t. He was gorgeous, and his short facial hair looked soft--which was weird, because Stiles knew it wouldn’t be. Short facial hair was always stabby.

“What in the--Stilinski?!” Jackson yelled.

He started, realizing he was just staring, and he looked at Jackson, going red in the face and beginning to straighten up. “Oh, shut up, you--” He went still, suddenly very aware that the alpha’s arm had come around him and was holding him against his chest.

“Weren’t you walking somewhere before you stumbled so gracefully and spilled your drink all over me?” the blind alpha asked, ear tipped toward Jackson. “I believe you should continue on with that.”

Mouth set in a severe line, Jackson stepped past them without saying anything else. The wide-eyed omegas that had been following him did so again after hesitating. 

Stiles waited until he’d disappeared amongst the dancing and drinking party members before looking back up again. “Hey, I was coming over here to save you,” he said, going for indignant but coming across as a whine. “You stole my thunder.”

The blind alpha chuckled, a low sound that curled in Stiles’s ears like smoke. “Save me, dear boy? From what?”

Clearing his throat, Stiles managed to straighten finally and take a step back. The alpha let him go, hand on his elbow to keep him steady (probably). “Jackson.” He jerked his head in the direction that the jerk had gone. “He’s the type to start swinging at a moment’s notice. He would have slugged you if I hadn’t interrupted.”

That brought a smile to the blind alpha’s face. “He would have tried.”

Well, that presented a number of questions. Stiles was about to open his mouth to ask a few is rapid succession, but another voice spoke up first.

“Stiles, why’d you run off?” Derek asked, maybe only just now catching up. He had probably gone around the dance floor instead of through it. You know, like a rational person. 

“Stiles Stilinski, what an interesting name,” the blind alpha said, before he tipped his head.

“It’s not my given name--at least, the first part. I picked it.” He looked at Derek. “Sorry, yeah, had to prevent Jackson from turning into a tornado of fists. You know how he is.”

“Hello, Derek.”

Whatever complaint Derek had died, because he looked at the stranger and blinked. “Do I know you?” he asked. At the blind alpha’s smile, he sniffed the air, and his eyes went wide. “Deucalion?”

The blind alpha smiled. “It has been a few years. Nice to see you again, pup.”

Unable to help himself, Stiles let out a frog-like “Heh.” Derek shot him a look, and he frowned. “Point that glare somewhere else, Sourwolf. It was  _ funny _ .” Deucalion laughed as Derek continued to scowl. He really had such a good face. “So you guys know each other?”

“I was an advisor to the High Alpha,” Deucalion supplied.

“Oh, your mother?” Stiles asked Derek with all the tact of a toddler.

Derek nodded, swallowing. He stood up straighter and looked to Stiles. “I think I’ll get a drink. We’ll continue our dance later, Stiles. Welcome back, Deucalion.” He turned without another word. 

It was probably a good thing that Deucalion couldn’t see the pained face he was making at his kerfuffle of that sensitive subject. Of  _ course _ , Deuclaion had meant Talia Hale. Stupid, Stiles, stuipd. 

“So, what is your given name?”

“What?” Stiles looked to find Deucalion with his head turned in his direction, as if looking directly at him. It took a minute for him to catch up to the question. “Oh, uh, it’s Polish. Mieczysław. You can imagine me trying to get adults to say it, let alone kids my age back when I started school.”

Deucalion lifted his brows. “I think I may be one of the only people who can imagine.”

Huffing a laugh, Stiles had to concede that. “Well, at least no one called you Mitch or Mikey.” He rolled his eyes.

“Kind of pedestrian compared to the real thing,” Deucalion agreed. “I was often called Duke or Leo.”

“See, those are cool names.” He didn’t bother hiding his jealousy. Shaking his head, he looked out toward the dancers. “I decided I was  _ Stiles _ when I was five. No argument to be had.”

"I have a feeling you don't get told  _ no _ often."

A smile twisted Stiles's lips as he turned to look back at Deucalion, finding a warm fondness across the man's features, even crinkling the edges of his eyes. He shook his head. "I get told  _ no _ all the time. I just don't listen."

That brought forth a laugh. "That's wonderful."

"You are the first to think so."

"I doubt that very much."

Oh, there his face went, getting all hot and red. He put his hand to his cheek, glad Deucalion couldn't see him. "Well, I mean, disobedience is only cute in the beginning. I'm loud, foul-mouthed, and I tend to break stuff. I can be a bull in a China shop when I get going."

"Well, I think I'd prefer that to the seen-not-heard kind of omegas, for obvious reasons." 

Oh god, was that--no. Absolutely no way was a man of Deucalion's position proposing a courtship. He would probably be off and out of town to court the cousin, sibling or offspring of the High Alpha in some other region.

Yeah. He was just being nice.

Time for a subject change. "So, what brings you to Beacon Hills?  _ Back _ , I mean. Back to Beacon Hills." Hiding in the bathroom was looking like a good alternative to interaction again.

There was a flicker of something across Deucalion’s face before he slipped on a smile that seemed a little hollow. “Since I was blinded, I avoided courtship balls, thinking that no one would want a damaged alpha, but… In my travels, I have become lonely. I have lived as a lone wolf for too long. It is time that I find someone to share my… everything with.”

There was honestly nothing that Stiles could have said that would have been a suitable response to such a heavy statement. What he did say was a breathy little, “Oh.” He was so bad at this.

“Are you uncomfortable, Stiles? I can’t tell by your heart. It beats so fast and erratically.”

“That’d be the Adderall and anxiety,” Stiles told him, then immediately regretted it. Yes. Mental illness, so sexy. He cleared his throat. “I guess I didn’t expect such an honest answer to my question.”

“I feel as though I should apologize.” Deucalion’s brows were pinched together.

“Please, don’t. You’ll make me feel bad. More bad. Worse.” Abort abort! “I’m going to get a drink. Do you want anything?”

Deucalion actually seemed to deflate a little at those words. “No, thank you, Stiles.”

“Okay.” Stiles turned and walked off, moving around the dancing couples. He went over to the long tables where the drinks and food were displayed, ready to stress eat until he felt normal again.

He went for the punch, because it was a party and he wanted punch. He reached for a glass to spoon some into, but his hand hit another, and he jerked back, forcing his gaze upward. Jackson stood right next to him, surprise written across his own face.

Where were his giggling omega followers? Did he have gold flakes in his hair? Who had dressed him and done his makeup? Why did it work so well?

He was staring.

“Stilinski,” Jackson said, eyebrows furrowing.

“I… I wanted punch.” Stiles pointed to the bowl of the orange-pink liquid.

Jackson looked at it, before he picked up a cup and spooned some into it. Wordlessly, he offered it over.

What the fuck. Stiles took it, concerned and suspicious and incapable of hiding it. “Thanks,” he said, looking into it.

“Sure,” Jackson told him, getting his own glass and taking a sip. 

He should go. He knew he should turn around and just walk off. But there was something in the way Jackson was just standing there, looking awkward and almost unsure of himself, that made Stiles want to stay and find out what in his Douchebag Machinery was malfunctioning.

He shouldn’t though. It wasn’t his problem or his place.

Still...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Vote on what happens next in this poll!](https://linkto.run/p/JUQGICIX)
> 
> You cannot vote in the comments, guys!
> 
> Sorry these updates aren't too quick. I'm having a rough time over here, but I'm trying. Your comments and support help a lot. ♥
> 
> Next update will be early December, as this story is on hiatus for NaNoWriMo.


	5. Eat shit and also kiss me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little chat and a dance with Jackson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who succeeded at NaNoWriMo!
> 
> Somebody else, because it sure as shit wasn't me!

Stiles was not good with moments of quiet, even short ones. He cleared his throat, sipped his punch, and tapped the glass with his finger until he couldn't handle it anymore. "What's up?" he asked, managing not to grab Jackson and demand all of his secrets. It wasn't like the guy to look so hesitant.

"Why are you here?" Jackson asked in return, turning to face him fully.

That was not what he was expecting. Stiles gestured to the rest of the room with a sweep of his hand, indicating to all the flirting alphas and omegas. "The same reason everyone else is here."

"Bullshit."

With a startled laugh, Stiles hissed out a soft, "Language!" Though, honestly, he was delighted by it. He imagined it showed on his face.

Jackson huffed at him, smiling back. "When you presented in middle school, you said you'd never come to a ball."

"I did?" Stiles could barely remember middle school.

"You got up on your desk and announced to the rest of us that you didn't need an alpha and you'd be single for life. You got  detention for two days."

Yeah, that sounded like him. He looked down into his glass. Did this punch have gold flakes or was he hallucinating? "I was a kid back then," he said, more to his drink than to Jackson. "I'm allowed to change my mind."

He could see Jackson shift uncomfortable in the corner of his eye. "I mean, yeah, but you never showed interest in any alphas after that, so..."

God, if only Jackson knew. He could distinctly remember the first time he went hot and wet for an alpha. It had been the most random and inopportune time too. She had been a mover,  kind of short, but stacked, with thick arms and thighs. She had wheeled their new stove in and lifted it into place with her bare hands, her back muscles rippling through her thin tank top. Then she'd wiped her brow and smiled — it had been directed at his dad, but it had pierced right through Stiles. He had fled up the stairs to his room and shivered with anticipation until the movers had left. Then he'd dealt with it. He'd been fourteen.

After that, it had been like an assault to his senses. Suddenly, sexy alphas were everywhere. Even Jackson, because he's once seen the outline of the guy's dick through his lacrosse shorts after a rainy game, and that had been fuel for his fantasies for a few weeks. Was he blushing? His face felt warm. He could blame the punch, even though he was pretty sure it was non alcoholic.

"That's why I never..."

Stiles looked up from his drink, confused by those words. "Never what?"

But Jackson just shook his head. "You're really looking for a mate?"

The tapping on the side of his cup started up again. "Yeah."

"What... What kind?"

That was a loaded question. How did he say that he wanted someone that he could love, truly? Someone that would treat him with respect. This was a heavy conversation, so he decided to lighten it up a bit. Rubbing the back of his neck, he gave a self-deprecating chuckle. "It's a low bar. Not ancient, doesn't stink, won't slap me in the mouth when I pop off."

Jackson's brows lifted at that, and there was an intensity in his eyes as he searched Stiles's face. What was he looking for? Stiles wasn't sure if he found it, because an empty smile spread his lips. "Yeah, you're  gonna die alone."

That startled a barking seal laugh out of Stiles, and he covered his mouth. He caught a few people turning to look at him and tried to appear a bit smaller, getting closer to Jackson so he could speak quieter. "I will have you know that two alphas tried to dance with me, and I got to pick who I preferred. It was amazing."

"Wanna make it three?" Jackson asked, his voice softer too.

" Wha ?" Listen, he was very smart. He was just about as socially apt as a potato.

Jackson just smiled at him. "Dance with me, dumbass." He set down his glass and held out his hand. 

Rolling his eyes up, Stiles put his glass down next to Jackson's and took the offered hand. "And they say chivalry is dead."

It should have been weird. He and Jackson had only ever been sort-of-rivals, though their rivalry was more about Stiles being a thorn in Jackson's side and Jackson consistently threatening to beat the hell out of him. He never had raised a hand to him though, because hitting an omega was Not Allowed. They were frail and breakable or some shit. 

But this was not weird. Stiles was easily led to the middle of the floor by Jackson and put his hands in the right places when they stopped. He still thought of Jackson as that pompous teenager alpha that had literally strutted through the halls of their high school. He was a man now. Still a jerk, but... He must have had some concern about his future, otherwise he wouldn't have been at the ball, surely?

"What are you looking for?" he asked out of the blue, after a few iterations of 1, 2, 3, and turn, 1, 2, 3. 

"Huh?" Jackson focused on his face like he'd been distracted. He'd have to ask by what once he finished with his current line of questioning.

"You asked what kind of alpha I'm looking for. So, what about you?" He pressed in a little closer and didn't miss the way Jackson's nostrils flared. Oh, maybe he didn't have to ask what he'd been distracted by after all. "Saw a bunch of omegas following you around like puppies. It was like high school all over again."

"Yeah..." Why was Jackson averting his eyes?

God, the more answers he got, the more questions he had.

"That's what you're into, right?" He bit his lip. Harems weren't exactly common. They were expensive, but Jackson had money and influence to make it happen.

"I should be, shouldn't I?" Jackson replied.

Well, he had no idea what to make of that. He had never seen Jackson so unsure. He had always had this air about him, this confidence that made Stiles burn with jealousy. Logically, he knew it wasn't all genuine, but... He had never looked so uncertain in front of Stiles before.

Further probing probably wasn't suited for a dance floor, no matter what he thought. He cleared his throat and squeezed Jackson's hand. "So, did you pick your outfit, or did a bunch of designers make you  T -pose on a pagoda while they transformed you?"

Jackson snorted, a smile twisting his mouth as he squeezed Stiles's hand back. "God, it was awful. I don't know how many outfits I tried on before they were satisfied. There were lights and mirrors all around me. Everywhere I looked, all I could see was myself."

"At least it was a good view." That came out of his mouth without him even thinking about it.

The smile on Jackson's face spread into a grin.

Stiles felt his face go hot. "A-anyway. You, um, yeah. Red is your color." Well, he'd gone and made this totally awkward for himself, now hadn't he? He glanced over Jackson's shoulder, already planning his escape.

"You look really good too."

"Thanks." Stiles's face was burning. He couldn't handle this. It was too much. He'd rather they just tease each other. Honesty hurt. 

Of course, that was when the music started to slow down. Oh no, not  gonna happen, he was not dancing cheek-to-cheek with Jackson. He couldn't handle it right then. So, when Jackson started to move in, the hand on his waist circling around to pull Stiles in, he blurted out, "I'm suddenly hungry."

Shock flew across Jackson's face, but he recovered quickly and didn't call him on it. Thank goodness for small miracles. "Let's eat then."

Nodding, Stiles allowed himself to be led out of the throng of dancing people. Jackson was still holding his hand, and Stiles was unsure he wanted to draw away. Perhaps it would be better if they talked somewhere else, somewhere quiet. They could make a plate of food each and go sit. Yeah. He didn't think he'd ever had a conversation with Jackson that didn't end in "fuck off." He was curious if they could talk without insulting each other too terribly.

He was willing to give it a shot.

When they reached the edge of the dancing circle, someone came up out of nowhere and pressed herself close to Jackson. She was pretty. Her features were delicate, and her eyes were big. She laid her hand on Jackson's neck and gave him a sparkling smile. "Dance with me?"

Jackson, bless him, looked like he was truly at am impasse here. He was an alpha at his core and having a beautiful omega with a plunging neckline throw herself at him was too much for him to resist. He swallowed, mouth working a second, before he looked back at Stiles.

Taking pity on him, Stiles let him go. He'd wanted to escape a minute ago, anyway. This would give him time to cool down and think. "Everyone deserves a turn, handsome," he said, and the female omega just smiled wider. "Catch ya later, okay?" He continued toward the buffet without say anything else. 

He really did want to try the Swedish meatballs.

Small plate of food in hand, he moved around the hall, nibbling at a meatball he'd speared with a cocktail stick. It was tasty, and he had the urge to buy a desk from IKEA. How long had he been at the party? It felt like no time at all so far. Couldn't have been more than a couple hours, surely. But as he passed by some double doors that led to a courtyard, he saw that it was pitch black out.

So dark, in fact, that he almost didn't notice a man standing out there all by his lonesome. Chewing on the stick, he peered closer. Peter? What was he doing out there by himself? He was just sitting on a bench, face tipped toward the sky. Burning with curiosity, Stiles put the stick on his plate and went to open the doors. But he stopped. No. It wasn't his business. That, and it would be incredibly improper for an  unmated pair to be out there with no chaperone. 

He drew away from the doors and turned away. Almost immediately, his eyes landed on Chris, and he sighed with relief. Yeah, it would be better to go talk to him. He took a step, but then an omega came into view from behind Chris and started to chat with him. Well, at him. Chris wasn't shrinking away from this excitable young man, but he didn't look comfortable either. Stiles was overcome with the urge to go save Chris, but immediately he felt overpowering anxiety at how awkward that situation would be.

It made him want to retreat out of the doors.

He waffled, trying to figure out what was the best choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vote for what you want Stiles to do next [at this poll.](https://linkto.run/p/P32ETJK3)
> 
> You can't vote in the comments guys! But you can tell me what you think of the story so far.
> 
> Hopefully I'll be able to post an update at least once a week, but don't quote me on that, lol.


	6. You remind me of the babe.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's up with Peter? Stiles is determined to find out. He gets a little distracted though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to edit it, but I have no braining ability right now.

The decisions that Stiles had were never very cut and dry. He wanted to save Chris from the chatty omega just as much as he wanted to see what had Peter doing... whatever it was he was doing. It wasn't like the guy to  actively  seek somewhere outside of the spotlight. Stiles chewed his lip, looking between the two of them, before he set his hand on the handle of the door. He could ask what Peter's damage was then come right back in to steal Chris away. Yeah. That worked.

Stepping outside, he walked as  quietly  as he could over to where Peter was sitting on the bench. His eyes were closed. Stiles had to wonder why. "Hey," he said as he stepped up to the bench. 

Peter's nostrils flared just a touch. "Stiles," he replied, cracking an eye open. "It's  terribly  improper for you to be out here with me, all by yourself." A grin spread across his lips. "Whatever will people think?"

Rolling his eyes, Stiles sat down next to Peter. "I've found that people  are gonna think what they're gonna think, no matter what I do." He offered the little plate he was holding. "Meatball?"

With a chuckle, Peter picked up the cocktail stick that Stiles had been using and speared one  of the meatballs , before he stuck it in his mouth. 

"So why'd you leave the party? Did you get bored with all the omegas throwing themselves at your feet  in order  to be the next to  be pulled into the great Hale line?"

Peter twirled the cocktail stick between his fingers. "It's gotten tiresome."

"What do you mean?" How in the world having people fall at your feet could get tiresome, Stiles  had no idea .

"They don't want me," Peter said with a single-shouldered shrug. "They want my money and the independence that my name can give them."

Stiles hummed and looked up at the sky. It made sense. "Well, can you blame them?" He looked back at Peter to find him giving him a quizzical look. "C'mon, Peter, you're not stupid. You don't need me to spell it out for you."

The confusion slid off of Peter's face to  be replaced by amusement. "Well, maybe I just want to hear you talk for a while. Your  honestly  is much more interesting than some other omega blowing smoke up by ass." 

Rolling his eyes, Stiles slumped down in the bench and looked up at the sky again. "If I thought  that  I didn't have any prospects outside of marriage and baby making, I'd sure as hell go after the most handsome alpha with the most money that I could too."

"You think I'm the most handsome alpha?"

Stiles turned his head away. "You're not half bad," he said, finger squeaking  lightly  against the plate in his lap. Okay, so he thought Peter was smoking hot. Sue him. He had eyes. 

"You look very nice tonight as well , Stiles."

That made him shudder a little, and he  had no idea why. Several outfits had praised his looks tonight. There was something in Peter's voice, some kind of tone that was  probably  better suited for more intimate surroundings. "Cad," he told him, and he meant it, even if he was smiling.

"Always," Peter told him. "Doesn't make it any less true."

Trying to act unaffected, Stiles stood up and ate another meatball. "Well, glad to see you're not dying or something. I think I'll rejoin the party," he told him, cheek bulging with seasoned meat.

Peter stood up as well . "You could do that, sure. Or, you could walk the hedge maze with me."

Stiles turned like his heel was on a pivot. "Hedge maze?" He looked to where Peter was  indicating . "Yeah, that says it's off limits." There was a big sign, in fact, with big letters. "We'll get in trouble."

"A slap on the wrist at best ," Peter said, walking backwards toward the entrance to the maze. Shadow fell over him as he went past where the garden was lit up. His wolf eyes reflected, shining, and Stiles had to admit that was the coolest thing ever. "But only if we get caught."

Yeah, this was a bad idea. He  really  did not need to be going into an Off Limits area with an alpha. What would his father think? Well, once upon a time he went looking for a dead body in the woods with Scott, so he didn't have the best judgement.  Thankfully  the body had  ended up being the missing CPR doll from the high school.

"You're a bad influence," he accused, setting down the plate of meatballs and following  after  Peter. He squinted into the dark and tried to make out what laid beyond  the entrance of the hedge maze. "I can't see in the dark, you know, not like you." He put out a hand, groping for something solid. What he got was a warm hand catching his and pulling him into the maze, into a darkness.

"Oh no," Peter said, his voice low and warm and making Stiles's insides go all squiggly . "I guess you'll just have to trust me."

"A terrible idea if there ever was one," Stiles told him, even as he allowed Peter to pull him deeper into the maze.

"Turn right here."

Stiles giggled as he stumbled, catching Peter's arm with his free hand. "Where's a tube of lipstick when you need it?"

"A tube of--?" Peter broke off with a laugh, squeezing his hand. "You're far too young to know about that movie."

"I will have you know that The Labyrinth is a classic that transcends all ages."

Peter hummed in agreement. "I've always been partial to David Bowie."

"Isn't everyone? -- Oh."

It wasn't a  magically  thing, really .  It could just be contributed to the moonlight breaking through the treeline over the hedge as they  finally  got far enough away from the light pollution of the dance hall. But, when the silvery light came through and danced across Peter's hair and shoulders, then shown in his blue eyes when he turned, well... That was magic to Stiles's little brain.

Then there was  the way that Peter was looking back at him. "Wow," he whispered, stepping closer and reaching out. Stiles  really  should have stopped him. Touching was  highly  inappropriate. This whole thing was a scandal waiting to happen, but he couldn't help but lean into his touch. "Radiant. Like a moonbeam."

Stiles didn't mean to snort,  really  he didn't, and he  immediately  covered his mouth with his hand. "I'm sorry," he said, trying to control his laughter but then just laughing more. He was awkward enough to giggle at a funeral.

Peter didn't seem upset though, letting out a chuckle of his own. "What is so funny?"

Trying to get a handle on his laughter, Stiles waved a hand. "It's-It's just that-that line was so corny." 

"Was it?"

Stiles squeaked as  he was yanked close,  suddenly  face to face with a too-handsome werewolf with  brilliantly  blue eyes. After a second to get his thoughts to go beyond  _ omiguhtakeme _ , he lifted his brows and tipped his head back to peer down his nose at him. "It was. Like, werewolf romance novel level corny. Next you'll be rubbing your scent all over me and whisking me off to your den."

That had Peter's tipping his head and arching a  finely  groomed brow. "Read many werewolf themed romance novels, Stiles?"

Oh, was that his face going hot or did he  all of the sudden develop a life-threatening fever? He blurted out a laugh and moved away as  gracefully  as a startled doe. "I-I will have you know that I only read the most scholarly of works, thank you very much." He put his hand to his face, feeling the heat radiating off of it. He hoped that the darkness hid his blushing.

"Then how would you know what goes on in such novels?" There was far too much amusement in that damn sexy voice.

Huffing, Stiles waved his other hand at Peter, not about to tell him  that  he'd read a lot of fanfiction and werewolves were a big trope to mix into stories. "Weren't you taking me to the center of this maze, or does this mean you're lost?" 

Peter caught his hand again, taking his time in wrapping his fingers about Stiles's bony ones. "I'll take you anywhere you want to go, Moonbeam."

"Oh my God, please stop," Stiles hissed, though he  was still overcome with giggles. He watched Peter's back as  he was led through the twists of the maze. He  definitely  wasn't regretting coming out here and abandoning all sense of propriety, though he had to worry about what would happen once they got to the center of the maze.  What would they find?  What would Peter want to do when they got there?  What would Stiles be willing to let him do?

Unfortunately , the center of the maze did not hold a Goblin City and a fantastic musical number. It was just a small gazebo and another exit that led all the way out again. Still, it was the best jaunt through a hedge maze that Stiles had ever taken. He went over to the gazebo and sat inside it, leaning back so he could look at the stars. 

"I would have  been lost in here for years if you hadn't shown me the way through," he told Peter.

"I think you're far cleverer than that," Peter said right back, standing at  the entrance of the gazebo. The moonlight streaming in gave him a silver halo and made his features dark. This  really  was just ticking all the boxes for a werewolf romance.

" I've been told I'm far too clever for my  own  good," he said, trying to find Peter's eyes. "Can I ask you a question?"

"You can ask me anything you like."

"Why haven't you chosen a mate yet?"

Peter's shoulder lifted and dropped. "I told you. They're not after me. They're after--"

"Your money and your name, I get it." Stiles waved his hand. "But if you can see right through them, then you should be able to pick a genuine one, right? They're not all bad."

"No, not all of them," Peter agreed.

A weird sensation crept up the back of Stiles's neck, and he swallowed, overcome with the need to fill the silence. "Well, what would your perfect omega be like?"

"I don't think I can  really  answer that question."

"Why's that?"

"It's too soon to tell."

What in the hell did that mean?

"Stiles?" came a call near the house. "Are you out here?"

"Lydia?" Stiles called back, standing up and stepping out of the gazebo. "I'm in the maze."

"Why?" she shouted.

Stiles  was very aware of Peter's body heat at his back. "I got bored!"

Muffled by distance as it was, Stiles recognized Lydia's noise of aggravation. "Come back inside! The final dance is starting soon!"

"Okay!" 

"Fun's over, I suppose." Stiles looked over at Peter, who just smiled at him and offered his arm. "Let me escort you back. It's only proper."

"Uh huh." Stiles looped his hand arm Peter's arm and allowed himself to  be led out of the maze. 

As they walked, he  quietly  mourned that the night was now  coming to an end . One more dance and then the ball would be over. He didn't believe he was any closer to ensnaring a mate. All he had  really  done was talk with alphas he  was already acquainted with and knew he had no chance with. 

Well, Deucalion was a new face, but that guy  was so intense .

When they entered the ballroom, Stiles  was aware of eyes turning their way. Oh right, he was an unmated omega with a  highly  sought-after bachelor alpha, and they had been outside. Together. Alone. For an unknown amount of time. He hadn't cared in the moment, but now people were looking at them. There  were puzzled expressions. Was that group of omegas whispering about them? He felt heat creeping up the back of his neck and a sick feeling twisting in his gut. He didn't  like being the center of attention, at least not like this.

"Well, this is where I take my leave," Peter said.

"What? Before the final dance?" Stiles blurted, looking at him and  promptly  forgetting everything else. Didn't Peter want to dance with him?

"Final dances are so... final... Besides, I must remain a man of mystery by leaving early." Peter took his hand and laid a soft kiss on his knuckles. "Also, I think someone else wants to dance with you."

"What? Who?" Stiles whipped his head around and spotted Chris coming over to him. "Oh. Then--" He turned to say something else to Peter, but  they man was gone like a wisp of smoke. "That man's middle name is Drama." He rolled his eyes, though he had to appreciate how smooth he was.

"Stiles." He turned again, and there was Chris, looking--nervous?

"Hey," Stiles replied, warmed by the sight of him. "I see you got away from that omega that was bugging you earlier."

"What? Oh." Chris laughed  softly  and rubbed at the tan line of his wedding band. "Well, he wasn't bugging me, exactly . He wasn't just looking for something more than I can offer." He shrugged a shoulder.

"You're more than enough," Stiles burst out, surprising himself and Chris by saying it. He'd always thought it, but he'd never meant to say it. He swallowed, not wanting to get into how he knew Chris thought of himself as half the alpha these days, since he'd already had one mating. As Chris opened his mouth to say something, Stiles grabbed him by the arm. "The music's starting. Dance with me?"

Shocked stayed on Chris's face for a moment more, before warmth chased it away and replaced it with a smile. "Sure."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No poll this time. I decided Chris needs some attention. Big poll next chapter though!


	7. In my defense, I was left unsupervised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guh! Sorry this chapter is so late. 
> 
> But, it's a long one and a lot of stuff happens, so hopefully that makes up for it.
> 
> Also, I am desperately seeking a beta reader for this and possibly other stories. If you're interested, come poke me on Tumblr! I am TheSushiOwl there. :D (AO3 isn't letting me link there anymore, don't know why.)

"I'm sorry about before," Stiles said when they were out amidst the rest of the dancers.

"What do you mean?" Chris asked, seeming to effortlessly lead Stiles in the steps. Confusion colored his face.

"Earlier tonight," Stiles told him, trying to focus on what he was saying and not on the way Chris's broad hand so perfectly fit on his hip. "We were talking. I wanted to keep talking, but then I got distracted by, y'know, Peter and Derek being... themselves. And then Jackson and Deucalion."

"Deucalion...?" Chris said, looking over to where the blind was standing off to the side of the group. Alone.

Feeling a twinge of guilt, Stiles nodded. "Yeah, he... I don't know a lot about him. He used to be High Alpha Talia's adviser."

"I see."

Swallowing, Stiles squeezed Chris's hand as they turned with the music. "Ah, anyway, yeah. I'm sorry for abandoning you and all that."

"You didn't abandon me, Stiles," Chris said, turning those gentle, slate grey eyes on him. "This is a courting ball. You're supposed to talk to different people."

"Yeah," Stiles agreed, ducking his head as he felt a blush creep up the back of his neck. "But I was talking to you first. We never finished our conversation."

"I don't really think we were talking about anything important."

Looking up, Stiles shook his head. "Well, we were talking about me finding someone that would take care of me just as much as I would take care of them."

"Right, we were." Chris flicked his tongue out to wet his lips. "Someone you deserve and who deserves you."

"Yeah." His face was warmer now. "Think I've met someone like that yet?"

Chris searched his face, and he looked like he might say something, but then he spun Stiles around to the cue of the music and pulled him in close again. "I think it's ultimately up to you to decide that. No one can declare themselves right for you. It's not fair."

"Maybe," Stiles agreed with a nod, feeling a little dizzy. "But I wouldn't mind for someone to say they'll give it a shot."

A smile pulled at Chris's mouth as he turned them about again. "Someone like you would make any alpha brave, Stiles."

That made Stiles bite his lip. He knew that Chris couldn't very well announce he planned to court him out loud in the middle of all these people. No, he would want to do this the right way. "Think I'll get a Letter of Intent out of this?" he asked, teasing and pressing in closer.

"Hm," Chris mused, glancing around them. Stiles wasn't sure what he was searching for and didn't want to look away from his face. "I believe you'll get at least one."

A grin split Stiles's face, and he laughed as Chris twirled him again. "I look forward to answering all my would-be suitors in kind," he told him haughtily, causing him to chuckle.

When the dance ended, Chris bent over his hand, laying a kiss on his knuckles, and Stiles fanned himself like a maiden that may swoon. They parted for the night in the entry way of the dance hall, and Stiles was rubbing his fingers over his knuckles happily as he started toward the doors. His father would be waiting to take him home and no doubt question him endlessly. Who did he talk to? Who did he dance with? Was everyone respectful?

He would leave out the part where he walked through a poorly lit garden maze on Peter Hale's arm with no supervision. His dad's heart didn't need that.

Before he could make it to the door though, he was snatched by the arm and pulled off around the grand staircase by Lydia. She turned her bright eyes on him and put her hands on her hips. "Well?"

His confusion was plain on his face. "Well what?"

"Well, tell me everything. I saw you talk to no less than five alphas, Stiles," Lydia huffed at him.

"I thought we were going to talk over coffee tomorrow before class?"

Lydia threw up her hands. "Forget coffee! I want to know now." She set her lips in a thin line as he blinked at her. "I mean, of course we'll still get coffee, but I want at least a few details now. I only talked to three alphas. I'm not used to being jealous of you."

"I think I'm offended," he said, squinting at her. "Who did you talk to?"

Lydia pushed a lock of her hair behind her ear, smiling. "A visiting alpha werewolf from Palo Alto named Kali. She's really intense. I danced with Marin Morrell a couple times. She asked about my studies. And then there's Jordan, of course," she said with a fond roll of her eyes. 

Stiles snorted. He'd pretty much already decided what he was going to wear to Jordan and Lydia's wedding. They had been flirting for years. Once upon a time, he'd thought that Lydia would come to the station to visit him when he was there. He knew better now, though, since Lydia made eyes at his dad's deputy at every chance she got. 

"Sounds to me like you talked to just as many alphas as you wanted to," he told her.

She playfully slapped his arm. "Don't change the subject. Chris Argent, Derek Hale, _Peter Hale_, Jackson Whittemore, and..."

"Deucalion," Stiles provided.

"As in the son of Prometheus?"

Stiles nodded, eyes widening as he realized just how weird that was. "Werewolves," he said with a shrug.

"Hm." Lydia tapped her finger on her lips. "You definitely got around tonight."

"I don't know how to take that, but I am just going to say that I win."

She laughed softly. "Who did you have the best time with?"

He opened his mouth, then shut it again with a click. Whose company had he enjoyed most? The most obvious answer should have been Chris. Everything with him was easy, always had been, but easy didn't always equate to meaningful. He liked Chris, always had, and while they could talk for hours and had playful banter, there was always something there, a barrier between them. If Chris courted him, would they be able to get past it?

Then there was Derek. They had been so close once, but he had pulled himself away from everyone. Talking and dancing with him had been nice, had felt like old times. He even felt like he was getting his friend back there for a minute. But Derek had told Peter to stay away from him like he had any right to. Stiles still didn't know exactly what to make of that, only that he didn't like it. Maybe he could talk to Derek about it later.

Deucalion was... well, he was a mystery. He obviously had a past that had driven him from Beacon Hills, likely to do with how he lost his sight, and now he was back in search of a mate. He was interesting. He was funny. Their chat had been nice. Stiles wanted to know absolutely everything about him, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to get close enough to him to learn it. He wasn't sure if he was what Deucalion wanted... needed. He'd run away before he could figure it out. That was his own folly. 

Then there was Jackson. What could he even say about that guy? He'd always had a simmering dislike mixed with envy for the guy. They'd known each other for such a long time, and Jackson had always been an asshat. He'd seen cracks in the face he wore before, such as the genuine smiles he had after winning games, the uncontrollable laughter he'd fall into when Greenburg did something so incredibly stupid, and the thoughtful looks on his face when he just stared off into nothing. Stiles had even seen him cry once, and it had been a shock. He'd been in the locker room, hunched over and sobbing as Danny rubbed his back. Stiles never learned why he was like that. Yeah, Jackson was complicated. And to know that Jackson would have shown interest in him if he'd known that Stiles wanted an alpha. Well... He didn't really have any words for that.

And Peter. Oh, _Peter._ Stiles could not deny that he thought that guy was drop dead sexy. They had a weird relationship. Peter was sleaze incarnate, honestly, but only in public, as it turns out. He'd been almost gentlemanly in the maze, though the fact that he'd lured Stiles in there could have been called predatory behavior had Stiles not gone all too happily. Stiles wanted to know what Peter wanted in a mate, but making an inquiry would be admitting that he might want to know if he fit the bill. He wasn't sure if he could handle the smugness that would cross Peter's face. No, he'd just have to punch him. Or kiss him, depending on the context. It would also be admitting that he hadn't minded being called "Moonbeam." Lord help him.

Yeah, he'd been thinking about this far too long. Lydia actually waved her hand in front of his face. "Earth to Stiles, come in Stiles."

"Guh," he complained, swatting at her hand. "I don't know, okay? I need to sleep on it. Anyway, it doesn't matter what I think at the moment. It'll matter later if I get Letters."

Lydia gave him a look like he was absolutely daft. It was a look she leveled at him all the time. "Of course it matters what you think, dummy. I will absolutely kill you if you respond to a Letter from an alpha that you don't like."

"I wouldn't do that," he protested. He was willing to respond to any letters, unless they were from alphas that he didn't even know. Or they were Adrian Harris. But he didn't have to worry about that after the incident in the supermarket with the eggplant and his dad reminding everyone he was armed.

"Mmhm, we'll see," Lydia said slowly, before she shooed him to the doors. "Sleep on it then. Talk to me tomorrow."

"Coffee?" he asked, backing away.

"Coffee," she agreed.

"See you then, Lyds," he told her, retreating while he had the opportunity.

His dad was waiting in the dance hall's lot, reading a case file by dome light, glasses perched on his nose. Stiles knocked on the windshield to get his attention, waving with a smile. After his dad unlocked the doors with a click, he opened up the passenger side and dropped inside. "Hey, Pops," he said, shooting a grin at his father.

"Hey, kiddo," his dad replied, folding the case file closed before Stiles could get a good look at it. He pulled off his reading glasses and tucked them into their cloth pouch before putting them in his pocket. "Have fun?"

"Yeah, it wasn't too bad," Stiles said, his grin spreading farther across his face. "I didn't even step on any toes."

His dad chuckled at that. "I'm so proud of you." He patted Stiles's thigh before he flipped off the light and turned the key in the ignition. "So you danced with people? Who? Do I know them?"

"Dad." Stiles lifted his brows, giving his dad a knowing look. "It was fine. Nobody got handsy. But yes, you do know them." Because his dad knew everybody in this town. It was one of the benefits and drawbacks of being the sheriff. 

"So..." Could his dad be anymore obvious?

"So," Stiles repeated, holding out the word even longer. At his dad's annoyed grunt, he rolled his eyes. "Fine, okay." He laid down the events of the night, detailing only the dances, because that was all he was asked about.

"You danced with _Jackson?_" his dad asked, and Stiles had to laugh a little.

"Yeah, surprised me too." He leaned the chair back, stretching out his arms and watching the scenery go by. He was tired. It had been a long, very strange night. 

"Well, it's good you danced with a few people, even if one of them is Jackson," his dad remarked, making him laugh. "I'm glad you reconnected with Derek. Too bad you guys lost touch in the first place. You should tell Scott."

"I will," he said, briefly wondering what time it was over in Australia where his bestie was studying the local fauna. They hadn't facetimed in a while. It was due time to change that. 

"And I suppose I can't blame you for dancing with Chris," his dad said, even though it sounded like it actually hurt to say it. "He's a good guy, even if he is my age."

Stiles pressed his lips together to keep a laugh from slipping out. "Yeah, he is a good guy."

"Did you talk to anyone else?" his dad asked, because he was not a fool.

Stiles toyed with his tie, staring harder at the passing buildings and trees. "I mean, yeah, Lydia was there. Talked to her a bit." The following silence was loud in his ears. He cleared his throat. "Uh, there was this one guy. Apparently he used to live in Beacon Hills, left for a while and then came back recently." He could feel his dad's curiosity like a weight. "His name is Deucalion. Didn't catch a last name."

"Deucalion..." The air in the car shifted, and Stiles looked at his dad, who was staring forward hard. "Haven't heard that name in a while."

"You know him?" Stiles asked in a gasp.

"Not personally, no, but I know of him." A crease was forming between his dad's brows.

"Is this where you tell me to stay away from him?" he asked slowly, carefully. What was his dad remembering that had him so caught up in his head?

His dad blinked and looked at him before jerking his eyes back to the road. "No, nothing like that. I don't imagine he's dangerous. He just..." His dad heaved a sigh and shook his head. "I don't really think I should tell you, kiddo. It's got nothing to do with me. I wouldn't know it at all if Chris hadn't told me."

"Chris knows him?" Stiles said, louder now. He'd thought that Chris had been surprised to learn his name and had been mildly curious about him. But, maybe Stiles had been too concerned with how close Chris had been and how he'd smelled like fresh sweet pine to take the proper social cues.

His dad swallowed, looking guilty for even letting out that much information. "Kiddo, I know telling you not to go rooting around in someone else's business doesn't usually work, but this time I should insist. You don't want to go digging up the past like that. You'll just hurt people. Okay?"

Stiles frowned at the seriousness of his dad's voice. What the hell had happened? He settled back in his seat, brow furrowed as he peered out of the window. "Yeah, okay," he said, letting out a long sigh. Nothing would keep him from being curious about it, especially now that he knew it was wrapped up in intrigue and scandal. But, he would keep his interested to himself.

"Good," his dad said, sighing at well, probably in relief. They drove in silence for a while, taking a turn here and there on the way home. They just turned onto their street when his dad piped up again with, "So, you didn't talk to anyone else?"

Dammit. Stiles almost got away with it. He chewed the inside of his cheek for a second. "Well, I might have talked to Peter Hale for a little while."

It was lucky that the street was vacant, and that they had their seat belts on, because his dad slammed on the breaks, causing the car to coming to a screeching halt right there in front of their neighbor's house.

"Dad, what the hell!" he cried, putting his hand on his chest where his seat belt had dug into it. 

"Stay away from him, Stiles," his dad said, turning toward him and grabbing his shoulders. "I mean it, kid."

"What, why?" Stiles asked, taken aback by the look in his father's eyes. There was anger there, sure, but there was also fear. "He's a sleazeball, sure, but--"

His dad was shaking his head, squeezing Stiles's shoulders. "He's not a good person. Just--just trust me when I say this, okay?"

Stiles flashed back to how angry Derek had been at the ball, how he'd told Peter to stay away from Stiles. He'd thought it was because Derek had just about the same ability to express his emotions as a potato, but now his dad was warning him away too? What the hell had Peter done to warrant this? He didn't get it. He knew by the intense expression that his dad was giving him that it was serious, but he also knew he wouldn't tell him. His position as Sheriff prevented him from sharing certain details about things.

"Okay," he said slowly, worried now. "I'll stay away from him."

His dad heaved a sigh of relief, dropping his head, before he patted Stiles's shoulder and pulled away. "Good. Thank you, Stiles."

Stiles looked out the window again, waving sheepishly at the elderly woman that lived next to them since she was peering out of her partly open door at them. She frowned and shut the door. He couldn't really feel any shame for pulling her away from her shows because his mind was teeming with too much information but also so many unanswered questions.

"I'm gonna go to bed," he told his dad once they were inside. "Got class tomorrow and all that."

"Okay, kiddo," his dad said, standing in the living room and looking a little lost.

Stiles felt the same. He went up the stairs to his room, so overwhelmed that his mind was starting to go numb. He pulled off his clothes with robotic motions, not really caring how expensive they were as he dropped them on the floor. He went over to his bed, plopping down face first, and decided to sleep on it.

* * *

He probably should have set his alarm though. He woke up to his dad calling his name from downstairs, and he grabbed at his phone to check the phone. With a gasp, he rocketed up onto his feet, almost tipping over the other way. Shit! He only had twenty minutes before he had to meet Lydia! He'd never gotten dressed so fast. He didn't even sniff his clothes to make sure they were actually clean, just grabbed what he could before he lumbered his way down the steps.

"Gotta go, gonna be late!" he called, trying to force his way into his jacket and grab his backpack at the same time.

"Wait up, kiddo," his dad said, hurrying out of the kitchen to meet him.

"What, I really need to--" Stiles froze as he noticed what his dad was holding out to him. Letters. As in, _Letters of Intent_. The only one he'd ever seen in person was the one his dad kept tucked away in his room, the one his mom had sent him. The envelope was blue, and it had been tied with a white satin ribbon. These envelopes were all different colors, and they were all tied with ribbons. He swallowed hard as he reached out to take them. "I--"

"You don't have to read them right now," his dad told him, reached out to squeeze his shoulder. "You've got plenty of time to figure out what you want, kiddo."

Swallowing a couple times, Stiles nodded then stuffed the letters in his bag between his text books and his binder. "I'll see you after class, Dad," he said, starting to turn towards the door again. But his dad caught him and hauled him into a hug so tight that it seized Stiles's breath and made his heart leap into his throat. "Dad." His voice shook and tears pricked at his eyes.

"Yeah," his dad said, letting him go and shooing him toward the door. "Don't speed."

He didn't, at least not where he knew any cops were stationed.

* * *

Lydia was waiting at their little table. She held out a cup to him before he even sat down. "Did you sleep in?"

"How can you tell?" he asked as he took the cup and sipped it, willing the bean water to make his brain to people things again.

"Because your hair looks very creative today." She grinned as he started to do an awkward combined pat and comb with one hand as he muttered into his cup. "So, you slept on it. I want a detailed analysis on which alpha you would let court you."

He set down his cup and dragged his hand across his face. "I think I'm going to do more than think about it." At her raised eyebrow, he opened his bag and fished out the Letters he'd received. The screaming in his head was almost worth the shock on her face and the gasp she let out. 

"Who are they from?" she asked as he laid them on the table. She looked like she wanted to touch them, to tear into them actually, but Letters were not notes to be passed in class. They were very private declarations from alphas.

He shook his head as he pushed them into an organized line on the table. "I haven't even opened them yet." He counted them. "Five," he said, looking over them.

"You talked to five alphas at the courting ball," she said, leaning her cheek on her hand. "You never do anything the easy way, do you, Stiles?"

He gave a tired little laugh. "That's me: Captain Complicated."

"Just like Facebook," she said, then giggled when he groaned. "I'd suggest you read them at home, that way you can really appreciate them." She ran her eyes over them again. "Those are not cheap stationary."

"I wouldn't know," he said, gathering them up one by one to place in a neat little stack before sliding them back in his bag. He zipped it up and held it against his stomach to give more attention to his coffee. After a few moments, he looked up to see Lydia gazing at him over her coffee, a smile slowly taking over her face. A moment's more and he realized that he was a bad friend. "Did you get any Letters?"

"Of course I got Letters, you dumbass," she said with a huff, smiling still. She grabbed her purse and whipped out a cream envelope with a baby blue ribbon. She opened it up and unfolded the Letter to smile dreamily at it. "It's from Jordan."

Of course it was. "You said Letters. Plural."

She shook her head, waving that away with a flick of her hand. "The other one was from Kali. It was nice and all, but this--" She pulled the Letter to her chest. "This is from Jordan, and it's the sweetest thing in the world. It explains why he waited so long and how he plans to make it up to me." 

Stiles had to admit privately to himself that, while getting five Letters was really cool and all, he wished that he had that. He wanted to have his mind made up already and to know what would happen during his courting. But right then, he was at a loss. He had gone to the ball thinking he would just stand by the buffet and stuff his face as alphas turned away in disgust. But he'd gotten the attention of five alphas somehow. He wasn't good with choices.

All he could think was that he was going to disappoint all of them.

"I'm happy for you, Lyds," he told her honestly as he hugged his backpack closer to him.

* * *

"Okay, I just need to open them," Stiles said to his room as he stared down at the Letters, so neatly laid out on his desk in a row. He had been staring at them for ten minutes, trying to figure out which one of them he was going to open first. Five Letters, five different colored envelopes, five different colored ribbons. Five very different alphas. He whined, covering his face with his hands. 

"Fuck it," he said, keeping his hand over his eyes and reaching out blindly to just grab whichever one he happened to. He pulled the letter up, uncovering his eyes, and let out a shaky breath. "Okay, first Letter, just need to read it now." Walking over to his bed, he sat down and turned the Letter over and over in his hands. The envelope was deep grey with a slight shimmer to it, and the ribbon was white. He had to admit that he liked the non-traditional look to it. He pulled the ribbon free and opened the envelope to pull out the Letter. It was typed instead of hand-written, which was odd for something so personal.

Dear Stiles,

I imagine that this Letter of Intent may come as a surprise to you, given how little we interacted at the ball. But I certainly hope that it is a welcome surprise. No matter how short the time was that we spoke, I have become quite infatuated with you. I would love to get to know you and to invite you into my life so you may know me. 

I don't wish to overwhelm you with promises of what I could provide for you and our family should we start one. I do have wealth, of course, and I have reclaimed my family's old estate just outside Beacon Hills. I can offer you a stable life, as any alpha should. But what I really need is a connection, a mate to my alpha and to my wolf. I need a pack again, and I am hoping you will be open to being the start of it.

Of course, we will start with a first date and see where we go from there. If you are willing, this is my declaration of intent.

I do hope to hear from you,  
Deucalion

Letting out a ragged sigh, Stiles lowered the letter and stared off at his wall. Whoa. That was... That was intense. He rubbed at his lips before slowly folding the Letter again and blinking rapidly. Shit, was he about to start crying? He slid the paper back into its envelope and looped the ribbon around it. That was the most blatantly honest thing that Stiles had ever read.

He also felt just a tiny bit like a jerk for making an assumption about it being typed. 

Standing up, he brought the Letter back over to his desk, laying it next to the others and grabbing the next one without even thinking about it. He took it to his bed and let out a long breath. This envelope was off-white, probably egg shell or ivory, he didn't know. Lydia would know. There was a faint design in the envelope, and had he been any more sophisticated, he would have probably known what the design was beyond _fancy_. The ribbon was gold, so he had an idea who it was from before he even opened it.

Hey Stiles,

So it was really weird seeing you at the ball, but I don't hate the fact that we danced. You clean up nice. It was cool talking to you too. I didn't really think that I would meet anyone at the ball that I would actually get along with. Sure, I thought I would talk to some omegas and maybe go home with one of them. But that didn't happen, because all I could think when I was talking to them was how I would have preferred to talk to you. 

You know I'm loaded. I'll take you anywhere you want to go. I guess what I'm trying to say is...

Date me, dumbass.

Don't leaving me hanging,  
Jackson

He should have been annoyed. He should have whipped the Letter across the room. But no, Stiles deteriorated into giggles. God, Jackson was such an asshole and yet so charming at the same time. Shaking his head fondly, he put the paper and ribbon back into its place and got up to take it to his desk. He snatched another letter and took it to his bed.

This envelope seemed pretty plain compared to the rest. It was simple white with a thin green ribbon tied in a single knot bow. He turned it this way and that. He wasn't sure what compelled him to bring it to his face and sniff it, but... Pine. It was Chris's aftershave. He closed his eyes, and he could imagine Chris tying the ribbon, his aftershave still lingering on his hands. He shivered a little as he pulled the ribbon free and opened the envelope.

Dear Stiles,

It's been a very long time since I've written one of these. I didn't think I would ever have to again. Honestly, I thought it would hurt more. But as I write this, the only thing I feel is excited about what comes next. I don't know when I developed feelings for you. You were just a kid that ran around the police station. But then I turned around and you were this handsome, bright young man with a beautiful smile. I kept coming up with reasons to be around you.

I don't want to make excuses anymore. I want to be around you because you want me there. It would be my honor to court you, Stiles, properly and officially. I hope you'll give me the chance.

Yours,  
Chris

Never had Stiles felt his heart so full. He bit his lip as he read the Letter again. He sighed softly, dreamily, folded the paper and put it in the envelope. Well, there was no doubt that he was going to respond this with a "hell yes." He wrapped the ribbon around the envelope and breathed it in again as he walked back over to his desk. 

The next envelope he picked up didn't look too fancy, just a simple white, but as he tipped it this way and that with the light, he noted that it glistened with silver. Weird, he'd never seen paper do that before. The ribbon looked like plain white too, but as he looked closer he realized it had a lace pattern, one that was more obvious to the touch. Stiles liked it. He'd always been tactile like that. He pulled it free and slipped it through his fingers, wrapping it around them and letting it stay there as he freed the Letter and opened it up.

Dearest Stiles,

For probably the first time in my adult life, I find myself hesitating on what to say and how to say it. I had a plan when I went to the ball. I was going to flirt with the omegas and further cement my position as the most eligible alpha bachelor in Beacon Hills. Then you came along and screwed that all up. You, with your inquisitive nature, your sarcasm, and your gorgeous laugh.

Now you've got me thinking about things like dates at drive-in movies, making reservations for more than just one, and creating space in my life for more than just what matters to me, but also what matters to someone I care about. This is incredibly inconvenient. How dare you? You'll have to make it up to me, I guess.

Be mine, Moonbeam.

Sincerely, for once,  
Peter

Stiles sagged as he finished the letter, hands drooping between his thighs. Speaking of inconvenient, that was really romantic and just snarky enough to be endearing. It was everything Stiles's liked about Peter splayed across a page, except now it included him putting himself out there and actually being a little bit vulnerable. Stiles wanted to respond, wanted to give Peter a chance, but... He flicked his eyes toward the door of his room. If he did, he'd have to do it in secret. Was that fair to anyone?

Carefully, he folded the Letter and put it back into its envelope, wrapping the ribbon around it and taking it back to his desk. He picked up the last envelope and took it to his bed. He was distracted as he pulled the blue ribbon loose. He was 99% sure this Letter was from Derek, but he didn't know if he could focus on it. He was too distracted by the thoughts of all the other alphas that were banging around in his head.

When he unfolded the Letter, something fell out of it and hit his shoe. He looked down, and gazing back up at him was himself. Well, his younger self. Much younger. He leaned down and picked up the photograph, making a tiny noise in the back of his throat. It was him at ten years of age, with Scott and Derek. They were all smiling. Derek was actually laughing as he hugged Stiles against his side, their cheeks smooshed together. He turned the photo over to find Derek's faded scrawl, _My best friends, Scott and Stiles._

Oh. Oh god, Stiles was actually going to cry. He took a few steadying breaths and read the Letter.

Stiles,

I don't know where everything went so wrong. I didn't mean to stop talking to you or to Scott. College was hard for me. I know that's not an excuse. I'm not good enough with words to properly explain what happened with me or why I shut everyone out. I just did, and it was stupid.

Seeing you at the ball, talking with you and dancing with you, made me remember how things used to be. More importantly, it made me remember how attracted to you I was the first time I saw you when I got back from college. You'd probably say that's part of the reason I avoided you. You always liked to analyze things like that.

I don't know if I have the right to ask if I could possibly court you, but I would like to, if you'll have me. Even if courting is off the table, can we be friends again?

I miss you,  
Derek

Yup. Stiles was crying. Big, fat droplets rolled down his cheeks as he took in those words. He sniffed and rubbed at his face with his sleeve. "Dammit," he whispered. "Big dummy. Fuck." He folded the Letter, placing it in its envelope and holding it to his chest tight. He stood and set the photograph on his bedside table, leaning it against his lamp. He'd get a frame for it at some point. No way in hell Derek was getting it back. Nope. He'd have to fight him for it.

Sniffing again, he took Derek's Letter to his desk and laid it next to the others. Damn, he hadn't expected this to be so hard. He wiped at his eyes and looked over the Letters. He wanted to respond to them all and say that they could court him. It wasn't unheard of to have multiple suitors, but in this day and age, it wasn't exactly common either. He dragged in a ragged breath and back up, trying to look at this from a different angle.

He couldn't just pick one and dismiss the rest without giving them all a fair shake, right? It'd be unfair to them. It'd be unfair to him too, because he didn't know what it would be like dating any of these alphas. He set his jaw. So, why not have a little competition? May the best alpha win and all that. That way he would be more confident in his future. And he could get some answers. He took a deep breath and let it out.

Now, who did he respond to first?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo! That was a doozy! The stars finally aligned tonight and I wrote the whole thing in one sitting. -manic smile- Kill me.
> 
> Anyway, uh, a wild plot appears? I hadn't originally intended to add anything deeper with Deucalion and Chris or even Peter, but the muse demanded it, and so I wrote it. It's 4am.
> 
> Poll time! [Vote here for your favorite alpha(s)!](https://linkto.run/p/BDCCJV9A) This is the only poll that will let you vote more than once, if it actually does the thing that I think it will do. IDK, I didn't make the poll site. As always, you can't vote in the comments, which are monitored. The poll ends on the 20th.
> 
> Thanks, babies. I'm going to sleep now.
> 
> I'm having a hella bad time over here. Christmas was not great. I'm working on the next chapter though, and here's the first line, "Peter wrote his numbers like a fancy asshole."


End file.
